


funny how the time goes rushing by (and all the little things we leave behind)

by tangentiallly



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Canon Compliant, Don’t copy to another site, F/F, Gen, Pining Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 18:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21104150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangentiallly/pseuds/tangentiallly
Summary: Beatrice smiled - lopsided and laid-back and yet still so bright, but not like a sharp bright but more of a softer bright like a lamp with light glowing softly, brightening up its surrounding spaces kind of bright. Kit’s in the surrounding spaces.Beatrice smiled and the surrounding spaces began to slowly brighten up. Warm up.One of these days, Kit thought.One of these days -





	funny how the time goes rushing by (and all the little things we leave behind)

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I don't own ASOUE
> 
> title from Mika's Stardust

Kit curled up her legs against her upper body, her knees almost against her chest but not quite, leaving enough room for her to bounce her legs back and forth. She was still on her first cup of coffee this morning and feeling pretty awake, considering the slightly less than 6 hours’ sleep she had. She felt high on alert and oddly awake and a surge of tense energy building up inside her that wasn’t exactly getting released by the bouncing of her legs, but at least they were vibrating on a somewhat similar frequency. 

She felt awake, alert even, that was for sure. But somehow, she was feeling hard to process the words in front of her. There was information right before her eyes, clear instructions on how to step by step encode this letter before sending this important piece of information out through private channels to make sure it would arrive in safe hands. But she looked at the words in front of her, she looked at the lines of instructions, and even though she knew they were words and she could read them separately, and she could register the fact “oh that’s a word” and also the fact “those words piece together into sentences that make sense” in her brain - somehow she still couldn’t work out what the page in that book right in front of her was trying to tell her.

Logically, Kit knew she could. Should be able to do so. Kit knew she could string those individual letters together into words and then those individual words together into sentences and those sentences would eventually inform her of something. Kit knew she was capable of that, she had done it before. She had even managed to do it under circumstances where she felt much more tired than this. But right now, though, she was feeling sharp and wide awake and utterly unable to process any information she hoped to read. Like, she knew there were words there, but she couldn’t make her brain process those. Her mind went blank when she tried.

She considered drinking another cup of coffee after the current one. She eyed the almost empty cup, and grabbed it towards her, finishing the rest. It tasted bitter. She felt wide awake and she felt a nervous energy almost shooting up to the roof and she felt like she was powered by caffeine and that made the bitterness worth it.

No - that wasn’t an accurate description. She had once felt that made the bitterness worth it, but to say she still felt so made it sound like she still didn’t enjoy the bitter taste and only tolerate that taste because it woke her whole body up. Because the truth was, she did enjoy the bitter taste - it was a gradual thing, but one day she no longer simply tolerated the taste but relish its bitterness. 

She wondered if this was what adulthood felt like.

Kit decided to get up and pay a visit to the refrigerator. The ice cube tray she put in last night was still there, now with ice cubes, all nicely frozen, sitting in it instead of just water. She had told Jacques that she would cut down on her ice coffee consumption, but there was nothing she said about drinking fresh hot coffee (bitterly delightful), and chewing on ice cubes (frozenly delightful) separately. She did cut on the ice coffee consumption, no lie there.

Truth be told, a while ago Kit would’ve probably just ignored whatever Jacques advised, such as the one where he said three ice coffees a day was too much, and let him know clearly that she had no intention of taking what he said into consideration. She was surprised she was now agreeing to him on the surface level while doing things another way she knew for sure he would frown at behind his back, partly because she didn’t want to hear his lecture partly because she didn’t want him to worry that much, when Jacques was already worrying about too many things. Jacques was always worrying about something or another, and it was really a kindness on her part to not pile one more thing onto it, Kit reasoned. This must be Bertrand’s horrible influence, Kit decided. Bertrand, who had always followed the philosophy of “a lie by omission is not a lie, that’s just a misleading phrase”.

She refocused on the words in front of her again, hoping she could process them through her brain this time. Then suddenly, before she could process any of those, there was a sharp, quick knock on the door, and then the door swung open.

Beatrice glided in with high speed, heading towards Kit, and gracefully, fancily did a whirl in front of her. Kit noticed Beatrice was wearing bat-themed roller skates. There were tiny wings on them. Kit heard Beatrice had plans to make them actually fly. It was peak impracticality in Kit’s opinion, but Kit was fondly amused anyway. Personally, she thought that everyone was probably fondly amused when it came to Beatrice, because that was just who Beatrice was.

The nervous energy she’d been feeling quieted down a little, tamed by the fond amusement artfully, wrapping it inside with care. Kit’s lips pulled upwards into a smile she hadn’t exactly anticipated, “Fancy shoes,” she commented.

Beatrice smirked, mischievous and sly and free at the same time, like she was pleased with herself. It was as if she knew she was the only person who could pull that kind of mischievousness off without being annoying, Kit thought. Even those who were not in love with Beatrice, like Kit herself, were still helplessly fond of her in a way. 

That’s part of Beatrice’s charm, everyone loved her.

She made people amused made people happy made them temporarily forget their troubles. She made them smile made them laugh made them shook their head wryly but fondly made them care. She was bright and warm like a lightbulb in a dark room, chaotic and wild and enthusiastic and always the life of the party, even when not in a party. She was what made life a party, perhaps.

(If Kit did not consider fire a hazardous and horrible thing, she would’ve also compared Beatrice to fire. After all, she did think Beatrice was bright and warm and chaotic and enthusiastic, all the traits that some people usually describe a fire with. However, Kit was fond of Beatrice, and would never compare her to something destructive and horrifying like a _fire_.)

(If we fight fire with fire, then the whole world would go up in smoke.)

(Kit remembered when they were younger and taught that sentence, Beatrice had tilted her head cleverly and asked, “What about if we fight water with water?” Lemony had answered immediately, “then maybe the world will flood.” “How about fighting poison with poison?” Beatrice asked, her eyes intent and focused, her words quicker than the teacher could stop her and the students in the class dissolve into chaotic discussions ignoring the teacher.

“Maybe it depends on which poison is stronger,” Monty mused aloud as everyone chattered, then said, “hey, G, do you think poison from animals would be stronger, or the ones from plants?” Before he got the answer back, though, the teacher had shouted for everyone to quiet down.)

(Beatrice was not fire, Beatrice was just delightful chaotic clever witty thoughtful capable dramatic warm brighter than the sun, that was all. Everyone could see that.)

Kit felt her shoulders relaxing as Beatrice started to chatter on about the plot of the Gustav Sebald production movie she would be starring in. It was called Bats in the Train Station, or something like that. Kit hadn’t even realized her shoulders were all tensed up before Beatrice glided in wearing those shoes of peak impracticality. She smiled a little, idly wondering where all the tension went. It was as it just suddenly evaporated.

“Gustav is insistent that we have to literally - and I mean _literally_ literally,” Beatrice gestured a bit to show the emphasis, “present all the metaphors on screen. He calls it performance art. Oh, you know, when I said literally literally, I was describing the secondly literally with the first literally, and I just think, adverbs are a work of art too, truly.” She grinned. “Totally. Definitely. Completely. Wonderfully. Literally. Immediately. Obviously. Arguably. Soundly. Collectively. Symbolically. Naturally.”

Kit stared at Beatrice, expression half disbelieving, half amused. And also completely and utterly fond, she also realized.

Beatrice winked.

Kit felt her heart skip a beat.

* * *

Kit was scribbling equations and designs for the submarine in her commonplace book, looking very intent and focused. Her eyebrows were tightly knitted together, and Beatrice could see her lips moving, quietly talking to herself about how to solve the problem at hand. Beatrice couldn’t hear her from this distance, but she wasn’t bad at reading lips, so she could somewhat make out what Kit was saying to herself. It seemed to be about water pressure. Lip reading was always interesting and fun, Beatrice thought as she studied the way Kit’s lips moved. Fascinating. Master of Eavesdropping even when she couldn’t hear anything directly. Top notch spy, if she were to rate herself.

A strand of Kit’s hair fell down slightly, and Beatrice had the urge to lift it out of Kit’s way and tug it behind her ear, maybe, so it wouldn’t block Kit’s sight and her thinking. But Kit was too far away, so she watched as Kit pushed the strand of hair towards the left absentmindedly instead. She turned her focus onto Kit’s hair, and the pencils within. She counted the pencils. There are 5. She wondered if it was possible to fit 13 in.

Maybe she should ask Kit about that next time. Not right now, of course, as Beatrice wouldn’t want to disturb Kit and interrupt her thought processes.

She began thinking, if she were to fit 13 pencils in Kit’s hair, where would each of them go.

* * *

Beatrice was rehearsing scripts at Monty and Gustav’s place and it was already past midnight when they finally finished. After phoning Kit about how she would borrow Monty’s tractor and drive back to her apartment so she would have enough time to dress herself elaborately tomorrow morning before showing up at the meeting Esme would also attend, Kit immediately vetoed that idea.

“I can’t stay here tonight! If I show up to that meeting without the city’s innest costume on - which would require some time to put on - Esme would suspect I have been out late attending secret schemes, and eventually discover our movie that doesn’t include her and insist to be involved, and fight me for the lead role, and I can’t have that!” Beatrice argued.

Kit took a brief second to imagine Beatrice and Esme fighting for the lead role, and how in the few times in the past this had happened, there were always too much tension and sparks between for Kit’s comfort. It made her feel uneasy. Unpleasant. Sure, she knew Beatrice could perfectly defend herself against Esme, and could be as sly and creative, perhaps even more so, as Esme. But Beatrice was one of her closest friends, and it was only natural Kit felt a little protective and therefore irritated and displeased, particularly with Esme constantly antagonizing Beatrice and the tension that kept piling up between them made Kit sometimes worry that one day it might crash down and_ something_ would happen.

“What are you exactly jeal - what exactly are you worried about?” Bertrand had asked once, stopping himself at the middle of the sentence and rewording quickly. Kit pretended not to notice that. If Bertrand, master of avoiding conflict, wanted to actually get her to talk about this, he should at least have the courage to subject himself to the mortifying ordeal of actually bringing up the subject unambiguously.

“Esme can be capable of vicious acts sometimes,” Kit had answered. It was, technically, not false after all.

“So could a lot of people,” Bertrand had pointed out slowly, the expression on his face carefully neutral and indecipherable. At that time Kit had thought maybe he meant people like Olaf, who had definitely exhibited certain tendencies and wilder side that Kit noticed. A little like Beatrice’s chaoticness, but not quite the same. It was hard not to notice, after all, with the pair of them almost always showing up at places together, bickering constantly, for as long as Kit had known them. Kit hadn’t been able to take her eyes off them sometimes. It was a little hard not to notice certain shared traits when the pair of them drew so much attention. But Kit had always thought Beatrice could handle Olaf, because they had grown up together, after all. She must know all his weaknesses, and therefore Kit did not have to worry that much. Esme, on the other hand, Kit worried Esme might be a more unknown entity, a potential danger, an unpredictable element. Plus, there was something inherently different about Beatrice and Olaf’s arguing and fights, compared to Beatrice and Esme’s, even though Kit couldn’t quite place what the difference was.

(But later, Kit thought maybe, just_ maybe_ \- maybe Bertrand had meant Beatrice.)

“Why do Monty and Gustav have a tractor, anyway?” Kit asked over the phone, just to stall time for what to say.

“They say it’s a gift from Jacques,” Beatrice answered, there was an underlying mischief as she continued, “I suspect it might have something to do with The Mission He Refused To Speak About.” They were talking over the phone and Kit couldn’t see Beatrice’s face, but she could imagine the devilish grin climbing up her cheeks, she could imagine Beatrice’s lips pulling up widely, she could imagine Beatrice making some wild gestures at Monty and Gustav at the moment as she heard their laughter faintly in the background.

“I’ll go drive you back,” Kit said. She slowly curled up her fingers on the hand not holding the phone, the fingers touching the palm gently, and she took a moment to stare at her hand, pondering at the odd feeling of fingers walking across palm. It felt oddly surreal, in a way.

“It’s late, Kit,” Beatrice protested.

“I love a good midnight drive,” Kit said immediately. “The speed, can you imagine? Plus, are you just going to drive the tractor through The City? A_ tractor_? Seriously?”

“I don’t see the problem?” Beatrice asked, sounding genuine. All things considered, perhaps not surprising.

“Well, I’ll definitely be faster with my taxi,” Kit pointed out. “And maybe I could crash at yours afterwards too, since I’m coming over in the morning originally anyway to help with you putting that innest costume on.”

“Hmm,” Beatrice mused, “that is true. Well, if it’s not too much trouble for you -”

“It isn’t,” Kit said quickly. “Totally isn’t. And I could really use a late night drive. See you in ... fifteen minutes.” She decided. Yes, she could definitely make it in fifteen minutes.

Kit hurried over to the kitchen counter to pick up her car key after she got off the phone. She pocketed it, heart feeling light and excited at the prospect of another midnight drive. The rush that came with the speed and the empty streets and the quietness. Unparalleled experience.

She let herself enjoy the drive over, enjoying the tunes of the late night radio and the city street scenes flying past her. She was quick to approach the city border and and the taxi ventured onto a broader road, and she sped up even more.

True to her words, within fifteen minutes, she had arrived at Monty and Gustav’s place just a little outside The City. She stepped on the brake and stopped rather smoothly (despite the loud sound from the car that might’ve slightly indicated otherwise, but Jacques wasn’t here to criticize anything so who cares anyway?) if she could say so herself.

Beatrice ran towards the taxi, apparently still having the energy to do so after a whole night’s rehearsing, and gave Kit a tight hug as Kit stepped out of the taxi. “You’re the best,” Beatrice said breathlessly, standing on her toes to press her nose against Kit’s.

Kit felt rather breathless herself, as if she was the one who just ran towards the taxi. To be fair, she did just sped the car all the way from The City to here, so it was probably due to that.

Monty and Gustav also walked out the house, and Kit and Beatrice waved them goodbye before climbing into the taxi.

“Well,” Kit drawled out as she started up the car. “Hold on tight.”

“Ohhh, exciting,” Beatrice grinned, her hand reaching out and landing on Kit’s arm. “I’m ready.” She announced.

Kit blinked, suddenly taken aback.

Beatrice began slyly, “If this would hinder your driving, I could -”

“Doesn’t hinder anything at all,” Kit cut across immediately, then added. “I’m not Jacques, my driving doesn’t get easily _hindered_.”

“Really?” Beatrice asked, and Kit could hear the laughter in her voice, just as she could feel Beatrice’s grasp on her arm.

“Let me prove it,” Kit suggested, with an air of confidence which she knew would absolutely give Jacques a headache, and some of her other friends would probably look somewhat disapproving, too.

Beatrice, unlike any of those cowards, said challengingly, “Oh yeah? Prove it, then, Snicket.”

When put it this way, this really wasn’t a challenge Kit would be willing to back down from.

* * *

“Is Beatrice interested in Jerome? Like, personally? More than a friend?” Kit asked one day. Bertrand hesitated for a fraction of second before answering.

“No,” he said, before adding meaningfully,“_Beatrice_ isn’t interested in Jerome like that.”

Bertrand’s hesitation and the emphasis made her unsure whether to believe that or not. It was only later when it struck her that his emphasis hadn’t been the word “_isn’t_”, but rather “_Beatrice_.” If he were to emphasize she wasn’t interested in Jerome that way, he might’ve emphasized the word “isn’t.”

Clues fell into place quickly, and she thought, surprised and amused, about Jacques being interested in Jerome. _Oh, this is interesting._

“Wow, _Jacques_ likes Jerome?” She phoned Bertrand and that was the first thing she said.

“Wait until the readers of Daily Punctilio hear about this,” he replied in a deadpan voice. (When one day Esme married Jerome with the help from Geraldine Julienne, Kit would remember the dramatic irony of this joke.)

* * *

Kit and Bertrand were out driving the taxi somewhere. It was raining outside, but apparently they decided they were going to drive out in the rain and chatted about stuff like, mechanics and engineering or something. Beatrice was organizing files in the underwater library with Dewey, wondering why Kit thought she would not be able to appreciate and contribute to a conversation about mechanical stuff like Bertrand could. And sure, she might not know as much, but she was imaginative and always came up with cool ideas and suggestions! And she could just sit there and listen to Kit explain every small detail of how submarines were built if Kit wanted her to. If Kit wanted to talk, Beatrice was definitely willing to listen. Dewey was a pleasant companion and they had fun debating poetry and literature together, sure, but imagine getting to share a ride in the rain with Kit, talking about whatever Kit wanted to talk about! Just picturing that in her head made Beatrice feel dreamy, like picturing a scene in a movie, like actually _being_ in a scene in the movie.

Dewey was listening to some sound recordings collected from VFD’s eavesdropping device hidden in sugar bowls placed at different restaurants. Most of the conversations were boring, but Beatrice supposed someone had to do the work of separating the important information from the irrelevant ones. According to Dewey, though, “Every bit of information is relevant, just in different ways, and nothing is insignificant. Everything is part of a larger picture. Everything builds up to the whole puzzle. They may seem insignificant and pointless on their own, but we have to build them up to the larger picture. It’s like that poem by John Godfrey Saxe.”

(Admittedly, Dewey didn’t _actually_ say ‘that poem by John Godfrey Saxe, he referred to the poem by its actual title. But in Beatrice’s mind, she automatically translated that to “that poem by John Godfrey Saxe” anyway. Well, she thought it was probably by him, and she felt that she was most likely right.)

(Dewey and Bertrand loved quoting John Godfrey Saxe. Beatrice suspected they had some secret competition going on about who could find more chances to quote the poet each week. Dewey had denied it every time she asked, and while Bertrand had never confirmed it either, he never directly denied it and instead just sidestepped the question somehow. According to Kit, this practically confirmed the existence of a secret competition.)

There was some static voices from the current recording Dewey was playing, and then Beatrice heard someone complained, “That man’s like, the most cryptid-like person I ever met. And he has this hat --” before getting cut off by static noises again.

Dewey frowned at the recording and commented loudly to the recording, “Well, if he is truly that cryptid-like, then you wouldn’t even have met him, would you?” He turned to Beatrice, shaking his head. “It’s like a perfect crime wouldn’t be known.”

Beatrice raised an eyebrow at him. “Cryptid superiority complex much, Dewey?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I’m just_ saying_. That the man mentioned couldn’t have been that cryptid like if he’d actually been met by someone.”

“Alright,” Beatrice drawled. “You’re the expert of this field.”

“Glad we’ve established that.”

* * *

They were at a gas station, and Beatrice went to the store to get them some snacks and drinks while Kit filled up the gas. As Kit inserted the nozzle into the fuel tank and her head dipped down to focus her gaze, she felt her glasses sliding down her nose slightly. It stopped and didn’t continue downwards, but now it was in an awkward place she wasn’t used to and she was feeling acutely aware the light pressure on her nose and she felt the urge to push the glasses back up, but her hands were quite busy at the moment. Kit tried arching her right shoulder forward and use it to push the glasses back up, and they got back up a little, though still not at the perfect position she hoped them to be in. Out of the corner of her eye, Kit saw Beatrice heading back with bags of snacks. 

Kit realized her face must be all crunched up or frowning while attempting to resolve her glasses situation, because Beatrice asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Kit replied, then added. “It’s just that my glasses are sliding down a bit.”

Beatrice transferred the handbag in one hand to another, and reached out the empty hand towards Kit’s face, fingers landing on the frames of Kit’s glasses, then carefully adjusted them back to Kit’s preferred position. Kit was suddenly very aware of how close Beatrice’s fingers were, almost brushing Kit’s face but not quite yet.

“This okay?” Beatrice asked, fingers not quite leaving yet.

Kit blinked. “Yeah. Perfect.”

Beatrice beamed at her. “Excellent!” She smoothly ran two of her fingers from the part of the frame near the lenses to the part near Kit’s left ear, curling strands of Kit’s hair in process, then tugged the strands behind Kit’s ear. Her touch was quick, soft and light, almost nonexistent. Kit felt every second of it, but then it was gone.

Beatrice smiled - lopsided and laid-back and yet still so bright, but not like a sharp bright but more of a softer bright like a lamp with light glowing softly, brightening up its surrounding spaces kind of bright. Kit’s in the surrounding spaces.

Beatrice smiled and the surrounding spaces began to slowly brighten up. Warm up.

_One of these days_, Kit thought. _One of these days -_

* * *

Beatrice stood in front of the kitchen counter, rearranging the different components of the salad she was making. It was her firm belief that when cooking, the presentation of the food was as important as the food itself. She carefully moved two pieces of spinach around, making sure not to ruin the symmetry balance. Salad arranging was a form of art.

Beatrice heard Kit step out of the showers, so she shouted to her, “Almost done with my salad art! Come look at it!”

Kit materialized at the kitchen entrance, her hair still dripping wet as she used a small towel to soak up some water. She was wearing an oversized white T-shirt that she’d forgotten to return to Jacques. She eyed the salad. “Neat,” she said appreciatively. “When cooking, the presentation of the food can be as important as the food itself.”

“Exactly!” Beatrice beamed at her, proud of her own artwork. “That was_ just _what I was thinking.”

* * *

Kit handed her the poison darts, and Beatrice squeezed Kit’s hand tightly for a moment before taking over the box and letting go off Kit’s hand. Beatrice hoped she wouldn’t have to let it go, but she had a mission to complete. They all did, of course, but now the dart had changed hands, it was Beatrice’s part to play next. She would do this. She would protect Kit from having to do this. She would protect Kit from having to bear this burden.

_I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you until the end of time. I’ll always protect you._

Beatrice gave Kit a quick, firm nod, and began moving before Esme Squalor could catch up.

* * *

She revealed the ring slowly, and then looked at him steadily. 

Bertrand exhaled sharply. “Kit -”

“You two work well together, and you’re the only person I trust to take care of her. And I know, you’re probably the only person he trusted to do this too,” she said, referring to her brother who passed on the ring to her after it was returned to him.

He slowly took it. “I will,” he said, voice waveringly ever so slightly, almost unnoticeable, “take care of her.”

She gave him a tight hug.

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hi on tumblr](https://beatricebidelaire.tumblr.com)


End file.
